


Platinum/Peroxide

by c000kiesandcream



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Barber AU, Basically, M/M, New York, Yuuri works as a barber and Victor falls in love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-11 20:54:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10474233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/c000kiesandcream/pseuds/c000kiesandcream
Summary: Yuuri Katsuki is a dime a dozen, award-winning hairdresser. He works at Fitzgerald's, run by Celestino Cialdini, and he's the star attraction.Victor Nikioforv is a world-renowned fashion designer, and his hairdresser is out of town.One warm summers day, Victor walks into Yuuri's barbershop.But he definitelywasn'tflirting with Yuuri. Right?





	1. Platinum

**Author's Note:**

> I played around with this idea, and decided to make it a two-shot  
> Enjoy! <3

_Snip. Snip. Snip._

The metallic click of the scissors cut through the heavy, summer air. Katsuki Yuuri’s face contorted in concentration as he carefully trimmed the hair of the little boy that was currently at his station. Low jazz music travelled through the humidity from the round brass speakers mounted on the wall, complimenting the speakeasy style of the barber shop. Dark, damask wallpaper was interrupted at intervals along the wall with large, gold-framed mirrors, in front of which sat a variety of different, vintage-style barber chairs. All of this made the summer heat feel all the more intense, and the classic 1920s feel was counteracted by the casual summer clothes the barbers were wearing beneath their dark grey aprons. 

The air con had cut out on them two days ago, and working in New York City in this heat was virtually impossible. But this was a family owned business that couldn’t afford to close while they were placed on a 4 day waiting list for an engineer to sort out the problem. Instead, they compromised; Celestino, who owned the shop, allowed the barbers as many breaks that they needed, and they didn’t have to wear their usual, stifling, smart uniform.

It was mid summer, and of course the shop was fully booked. So far today, Yuuri had had at least seven clients, and it was barely afternoon. He wiped the sweat from his brow, before kneeling in front of the blonde head in his chair. The little boy stared deep into Yuuri’s eyes, making him feel slightly uncomfortable as he gently pulled the front strands through his fingers, using a thin blade to graduate a fringe. 

The kid wasn’t older than five; Yuuri knew this because he was a regular. His name was Leo, and he was adorable. Every time he came for a cut, Leo’s mother insisted on this same choppy hairstyle that was much older than the child. Still, the mother was adamant that this was the style his hair was to be. In this heat, Yuuri would have opted for short hair on the sides, leaving a longer mop on the top. Leo’s hair was naturally wavy, so it would have looked stylish without looking thin. But the mother, who was in charge of the entire operation, demanded the boyband hair style, so of course Yuuri had to oblige.

Still, he tried not to make eye contact as he trimmed the currently straight, wet hair, nodding his glasses back onto his face so that he didn’t accidentally snip at the poor child’s nose. The frames were hot, and slid too far down his nose purely because of the sweat. Yuuri felt disgusting, but he tried to push the thought aside as he finished up the trim. The blades in his hands were slipping, so he wiped his hand on his apron to try and retain some grip.

He had been putting off the inevitable, but now he had to fully style the poor boys hair. The hairdryer whirred into life, pumping more uncomfortably hot air into the surroundings. Yuuri’s hands worked quickly, shaking the soft strands as fast as possible, the hot air burning his fingers. God knows how the kid must have felt, but after five long, sweltering minutes, the hair was finally dry. 

Leo cheered, squirming on the leather seat, eager to finish up. He knew he was coming to the end, and Yuuri, though not visibly squirming himself, was looking forward to his break afterwards. 

“Now, what comes next?” Yuuri kneeled down to speak to the child, who pondered the products that were lined up in front of the mirror.

“Erm… green one?” His stubby little finger pointed at a tub of styling gel, and Yuuri nodded.

“Yep, and the purple one,” he grabbed the purple spritz bottle, spraying cool conditioner into the sandy strands of hair that he shook out with his fingers. The boy still squirmed, his bare legs sticking to the leather seat. 

“Almost there, Leo. Maybe your mom will get you an ice cream after?” Yuuri smiled, carefully teasing the bangs downwards. He nodded, confirming that he was done.

Immediately, Leo jumped out of his seat and dodged the other barbers to meet his mom, who had moved one of their seats just outside the door. He jumped into her arms, and shook away all the careful styling Yuuri had attempted. He wasn’t too mad, though. Leo was only five, after all.

“Thank you so much, Yuuri, it’s perfect as always. But I bet you’re just exhausted working in this heat,” Leo’s mom fanned herself with a leaflet from the shop, while she fished through her purse for a little wallet. Her short red hair fell down in front of her sunglasses, and Yuuri noticed her roots needed a touch up. Shaking the thought, he just shrugged.

“I’m on a break now, and I’m planning on sticking my head in a bucket of ice,” he half-joked as she slipped a couple of $20 bills into his sweaty palm.

“That’s for you, not the tip jar. Go and get a frappe or something,” she waved off his attempt to hand one back, taking her sons hand and walking from the store.

“Thanks again,” Yuuri called, slipping one of the bills into his back pocket before handing the other over to Sara Crispino, the girl working the register.

“Another happy customer. I’m  _sure_ she has a crush on you, she won’t let anyone else cut her baby’s hair,” Sara giggled, slipping the note into the large, antique register. It dinged as she did so, and she started writing a note on the open plan calendar that stretched the length of the desk. Her long, dark hair was pulled into a clumsy braid that stretched down below her shoulders. Some strands had fallen loose, but she tucked those behind her ears as she scribbled. Yuuri was constantly offering to style it for her, but she always refused.

After a long, hot moment, Sara nodded a confirmation to herself.

“You’ve got ten minutes until your next client. It’s a bleach, but given the heat situation, take 20 and I can get Emil to prep,” she had already waved over the intern, who had been sweeping away the hair that was scattered around Yuuri’s station. Yuuri nodded gratefully, dropping his apron on the counter and ducking out of the store onto the busy sidewalk.  
He took a left, walking towards the cafe where his best friend worked at the end of the street. Heatwaves bounced off the tarmac, yellow cabs emitting their own radiation as he walked past. Still, there was at least a light breeze out here, and it did cool his sweat-covered skin slightly.

The coffee shop was empty. Across the street, Yuuri could just see through the fence into Central Park, which was heaving with families and professionals enjoying a sun-soaked lunch break.   
The heat was hurting his head. 

He pushed open the heavy door, stunned by the cool blast of air that hit his face when he did. His shoulders relaxed as he stepped further into the cool, granite space. There were a couple of people scattered around the shop, one typing feverishly on a laptop, the other quietly sipping a steaming cup. A pop song travelled over the counter, which was deserted. Yuuri stepped up, and leaned over, calling out into the open storage cupboard.

“Phichit?” He asked. He was tempted to rest his head against the counter, which was cool on his palms, but he refrained, sure that it was some sort of health code violation. After a crashing sound, Phichit Chulanont hopped out of storage, two milk jugs in hand. His hair stuck up slightly, and his bright grey eyes beamed at the sight of his best friend.

“Hey. Usual?” He didn’t have to ask, and had already started pouring out the coffee. Yuuri helped himself to one of the muffins on the counter, and while Phichit blended, he took a seat and closed his eyes, resting his head on the table.

He loved working as a hairdresser, especially as it kept him busy. He was one of the most talented barbers in New York, as proudly displayed in the shop by the first place certificates he had won in various competitions across the city. Yuuri’s days were always fully booked, but he had had to pass on a couple of clients during the heatwave. It was impossible for him to work at his usual pace, and it was frustrating but necessary. He would rather give 100% to fewer clients, than collapse by 3pm having ruined two dye jobs and a close shave. Today had been the exception to the rule, though, as his boss was off for the day.

Phichit placed two large drinks in front of Yuuri, one was an iced macchiato, the other a vanilla bean frappe. After ringing him up, Phichit handed him his change, and rejoined him at one of the tables closest to the counter.

“Won’t you get in trouble?” Yuuri asked, gratefully sipping the iced drink. The cool liquid sent a pleasant shiver down his spine, cooling him instantly. Phichit just laughed.

“You know I’m already done, just waiting for Mila to take me off shift,” Phichit shrugged, helping himself to a sip of Yuuri’s frappe. “Still no air con?”

Yuuri shook his head, agitating his headache. It felt like his brain was rattling around behind his skull, and an uncomfortable pressure was building behind his eyes. 

“That’s awful, surely it’s against the law?” Phichit rummaged in his apron, before pulling out a couple of loose aspirin without being asked. Yuuri begrudgingly took them dry, before shaking his head again.

“We can’t afford to shut up for two days, and it’s not that bad. Celestino is the best boss I’ve ever had, we’re taking it easy,” Yuuri mused, again sipping his coffee.

“That won’t matter if you all collapse. So, what have you got next?” Phichit stood up as he asked, slipping behind the counter to serve the couple that had just walked in.

“Bleach, god knows why in this weather. I’m sure it won’t take properly in this heat,” he replied, glancing at his watch. He still had ten minutes of his break. “He’s there now, waiting, but Emil is prepping.”

“How is the new kid?” Phichit asked as he poured out the smoothies he had blended, handing them over carefully. Yuuri shook his head.

“He’s alright. Some days he’s super confident, the next he looks like a lost puppy. And he has a major crush on Sara, and you know what Mickey’s like. Remember when I brought her here?” Yuuri chuckled at the memory of Michele Crispino, one of the other barbers in the shop, practically smashing through the glass doors of Phichit’s cafe because Yuuri had dared to bring his precious sister out for lunch. After teasing him about it for a week, Sara managed to calm him down enough so that he didn’t threaten to cut Yuuri with his razors whenever he made eye contact, but that didn’t stop him from glaring protectively whenever anyone approached his sister.

Phichit also laughed, recalling the barrage of Italian swear words both he and Yuuri had been subject to last September. He had finished serving now, and slumped in the chair opposite Yuuri, who had finished his muffin and was almost finished on his first iced drink. Running his fingers along the edge of the plastic cup, collecting condensation, he sighed. One more client, the longest of the day. And it was a dye job, not only that, a bleach. He wasn’t looking forward to the next couple of hours, sucking in the awful fumes in the stifling shop.

When Yuuri had finished his second drink, Phichit grabbed him one of his stashed water bottles that he had frozen during the day, ringing it up on his employee card, before dropping his apron on the counter and leaving with Yuuri. As they left, Phichit’s red-haired colleague bolted past, sweeping past them and into the green apron before the door had even swung shut.  
Together they walked lazily back to the barber shop. Phichit was scrolling through his social media, while Yuuri mentally prepared for his next client. It had been a while since he had been booked for a full dye, but he was sure he could still remember the measurements despite the mild heatstroke pressing in his temples.

Before either of them had started talking again, they were outside the shop. Phichit glanced into the open door, and let out a gasp when he caught sight of who was at Yuuri’s station. Yuuri blinked, rubbing his eyes and pushing his glasses up his sweaty nose, taking in his next client.

A tall man was stood behind his chair, admiring the leather with his slender fingers. He was wearing a pair of stone grey shorts, with a white polo shirt buttoned right to the top. On his head sat a pair of tortoiseshell Raybans, and he was lazily scrolling thorough his iPhone, patiently waiting for his hairdresser. As he did so, his slender arms flexed involuntary, hinting at muscular. He was beautiful, truly stunning, pale against the shadows of the store. And Yuuri vaguely recognised him.

“You do know who that is, don’t you?” Phichit had grabbed Yuuri’s arm, but immediately regretted the transfer of heat. Yuuri looked again, before turning to Phichit.

“It’s not, it’s not that Russian guy? On TV?” He glanced back into the shop briefly, ignoring the noises of disbelief from Phichit.

“ _That Russian Guy?_ Yuuri, that’s Victor Nikiforov. He’s a world renowned fashion designer,“ Phichit said incredulously. 

Yuuri clicked his fingers. “He’s on those shows we watch on a Sunday morning?” Yuuri glanced again. Unfortunately, Victor also looked up at that time, and raised a hand in greeting. A blush that had nothing to do with the heat crept up Yuuri’s neck, and he decided he couldn’t well stand on the street for the rest of the afternoon.

“Please,  _please_ , can I come and get his autograph?” Phichit tried to follow Yuuri into the shop, but Yuuri blocked his path.

“No,” he asserted, nudging a disgruntled Phichit back onto the sidewalk. Pouting, he walked out of view, and Yuuri turned to Sara. She was trying hard not to keep staring at Victor, and there was an unfamiliar hush on the shop floor. The other barbers and their patrons were glancing in the mirror occasionally, but for the most part Yuuri could only hear the whir of the two large fans and the hip hop beat now resonating from the speakers.

“He insisted on waiting for you,” Sara whispered, handing over an apron. Yuuri nodded.

He didn’t even realise this guy was a celebrity until Phichit mentioned it, but now that he recognised him, he felt nervous. True, Phichit knew a lot of ‘celebrities’ that Yuuri didn’t, but the hush in the store made him feel uneasy. It didn’t help that he was incredibly attractive, either. 

Slipping the apron over his head, he willed the flush in his cheeks to die down as he fumbled with the straps. As he approached his station, and Victor looked up at him, the butterflies in his stomach erupted into life, rising in his chest. His fingers gripped his ice water, grateful for the cool pressure. 

“Good afternoon. I’m Victor Nikiforov,” he held a hand out to shake, which Yuuri took. It was warm, but not clammy, unlike Yuuri’s.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Yuuri Katsuki. Sorry I kept you waiting,” Yuuri said, surprised that it didn’t come out as a mutter. Victor just waved his apology away.

“Not at all. It’s too hot to be mad at you. Why  _is_ it so hot in here?” He asked, looking up at the large vents that usually provided the air con.

“It broke a couple of days ago. We’re waiting for an engineer,” Yuuri pulled the plastic cover off his seat as he spoke, and gestured that Victor should sit down, which he did. Gracefully, Yuuri threw the cover over Victor, carefully fastening the clasps at the nape of his neck. He couldn’t help but brush the skin with the back of his fingers. The skin was soft, Yuuri could tell that even in the brief contact above his coarse collar, and it recalled the flush in his cheeks once more. He was acting like a schoolboy, and he needed to snap out of it.

“It sure is warm in here,” Victor laughed, playfully pulling at the plastic around his neck.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t stain your clothes or your skin with the dye, and it drips,” Yuuri apologised for the second time in two minutes. He turned and waved Emil over, pointing at the fan he wanted him to bring to his station. Emil just turned on the spot, glancing behind him to see what Yuuri wanted. This did not go unnoticed by Victor, who let out a low chuckle to himself.

“It’s okay, I don’t need _that_ big thing. I’ll survive,” he insisted, but Yuuri shook his head.

“I need to make sure the mixture doesn’t do anything weird in this heat,” he smiled in the mirror, briefly making eye contact before stalking towards the fan. 

“Oh, you wanted the fan? Why didn’t you say?” Emil placed his broom against a wall and helped Yuuri drag it across the floor. It made a terrible noise as the metal scratched along the stone floor, causing the entire room to wince. Eventually, Yuuri was satisfied with the angle of the fan, grateful that he could use the dye as an excuse to be near to it. It didn’t offer much cold air, but it did help slightly. 

The aspirin had kicked in, alongside his double caffeine intake, so he could focus more clearly on the task at hand. Gently, his fingertips brushed through the surprisingly soft grey hair on top of Victor’s head. It was in a fantastic condition, considering the colour it was dyed. While the ends were a little dry, the main body of the hair retained its volume and thickness while yielding slightly to Yuuri’s touch. The roots were slightly darker than the rest of the platinum hair, and close to the scalp Yuuri could see the yellow blonde tones that Victor wanted covering. 

“Your hair is in a fantastic condition,” Yuuri confirmed, gushing slightly.

“Thank you. I take great care to maintain it,” Victor nodded. He made eye contact in the mirror again, smiling when Yuuri’s eyes darted back down to his hair.

“So, do you do this yourself?” Yuuri turned to beckon Emil back over as he asked, so he missed Victor shaking his head.

“No, but my hairdresser has had to go back home for a couple of weeks, and I have a promo shoot for my new show next week, and, well, you were featured in GQ last month as a rising star, and I just had to see for myself. Besides, you were the only barber willing to touch peroxide,” Victor laughed, the sound ringing loudly above the music. 

Of course, the only feature Celestino insisted on accepting to promote Yuuri’s 4th consecutive national award was in a prestigious magazine read by millions. Yuuri had posed in front of this very seat awkwardly, pretending to cut his boss’s hair for the photographs. He had hated every minute of it, but it must have done the trick, as the clientele had shifted slightly. Vaguely familiar faces had started trickling through the doors, and of course Yuuri was always fully booked out. Victor, however, was by far the most famous face. 

Emil now appeared at his arm, pulling on his apron strings, urgently nodding towards the mixing room. Yuuri sighed and excused himself, following Emil, who had prepared four separate bowls of bleach, none the right consistency or colour.

“I can’t remember,” he said, flipping through the ratio book. Yuuri closed the book for him, and pointed at the correct powder container.

“This one, and then this one. Make sure you don’t overfill with the powder, because it expands. And it must be this colour,” he said gently, swiftly combining the ingredients and creating a pale blue, powdery foam. Emil nodded, but still held his head low.

“Don’t worry,” Yuuri insisted. “I wish I still had the photos of my sister’s hair when I was practising. You’ll get the hang of it. Why don’t you mix me some platinum? 10,2, on the top shelf, three to one ratio,” Yuuri clapped Emil’s shoulder, and the apprentice smiled. 

“Okay, I’ll try,” he nodded. 

Yuuri continued to mix as he walked back to his station, trying to breathe through his mouth. The heat intensified the chemical smell from the pot, and he wished he had grabbed a mask. Still, with hair as light as Victor’s, it probably wouldn’t need that long to take properly.

Carefully, with one hand, he used a thin comb to part Victor’s hair, alternating between the brush and the comb to quickly coat Victor’s roots with the bleach. It took him ten minutes to completely cover the yellow, and the second he was done, he pulled his phone out to set a timer. 

Victor started panting, shaking his head, causing Yuuri to almost throw the chair back in blind panic. Michele glanced over, clippers buzzing against the air.

“V-Victor! Your notes said you used Scharwzkopf, what-” he froze when he saw the mischievous glint in Victor’s eye, and he threw his head back laughing again.

“Got you. I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist,” he smirked, wiggling to pull his phone out of his shorts pocket under the apron. Yuuri blinked, brows knitted together in confusion.

“Oh, right,” he muttered, slightly embarrassed. “Would you like a drink?”

“Water, please, thank you,” Victor was scrolling through his emails when Yuuri left.

Michele touched his arm as he passed and raised an eyebrow. Yuuri shrugged, rejoining Emil who was proudly mixing the dye together. 

“Hey, look at that!” Yuuri grinned, giving him a thumbs up.

“Is it right?” He tilted the bowl, and Yuuri was impressed that he had remembered the ratio. He nodded his approval, and grabbed a water bottle from the ice bucket in the corner.

When he returned, Victor was leaning on his elbow and admiring the mirrors.

“I’m sorry, I was just messing with you. I always used to get my old hairdresser like that, but he used to play along,” Victor smiled apologetically, and it was Yuuri’s turn to wave him off.

“I’m sorry, I’m a bit off today. It’s so hot in here, but it’s no excuse,” he reached over Victor to grab his half melted ice water, chugging half the bottle.

“It is warm, but the decor doesn’t help. If you had whitewash walls, and perhaps light, plastic chairs instead of these large leather ones, it would feel less stifling in here. But this works really well for the in between seasons, particularly because of the high ceiling,” Victor pointed up. Yuuri had never thought about how the shop was designed.

“Yeah, Celestino loves all things ‘20s. He calls it vintage revival or something, even our uniforms match. Not this,” he motioned at his blue t shirt and denim shirts beneath the apron.

“What do you usually wear?” Victor cocked his head, and Yuuri fished for his phone in his pocket.

“I couldn’t ever explain it well enough, but, hang on,” he scrolled quickly through his Facebook profile, which was mostly hair-related posts. He found the photo he was looking for, and held the screen in front of Victor, whose eyes flitted between the screen and Yuuri in the mirror.

“Wow, they look amazing, and I can totally see it,” he nodded, impressed. Yuuri did like the uniform, which was a pair of black trousers, a purple shirt and either a grey waistcoat or black braces with gold fastenings. Celestino had spared no expense in building his image, and it had paid off.

Suddenly, the phone buzzed to indicate the dye was done, so he led Victor to the sinks. When Victor stood up, Yuuri realised he was a whole head shorter than him. 

When Victor sat down, Yuuri turned the water on and gently sprayed his head with the cool shower. Victor sighed when the water hit his skin, closing his eyes as Yuuri worked shampoo into his scalp, gently massaging the lotion into suds. It had never really crossed Yuuri’s mind to consider how intimate his profession was, but here, now, on this sweltering August afternoon, while he delicately worked the bleach out of this man’s hair, that was the only thing he could think of. He must have washed thousands of people’s hair, but never had he felt like this.

Victor didn’t help by sighing a couple of times, relaxing into the dip of the ceramic and looking incredibly relaxed. Yuuri tried to focus on the bleach, but even when he realised he had scrubbed it all away, he continued to work Victor’s hair. After slowly rubbing the conditioner into the roots, and deliberately took his time in making sure it was clear before switching off the water. When he heard the shower head had stopped, Victor squinted up at Yuuri, mouth curled up slightly.

“Yuuri, I wish you could wash my hair every day,” he pushed himself up, shaking his hair with the towel that Yuuri offered. Luckily, Yuuri seemed to be the only one who heard this, so he was spared the embarrassment.

“Thanks,” he muttered, busying himself with the towels as he gestured that Victor should take his seat. He did, and patiently waited while Yuuri collected the dye from Emil. He sipped the water bottle Yuuri had handed him, and admired his new roots in the mirror. His own hairdresser was being given a run for his money.

When Yuuri returned, he had a tray, so he could use both hands to carefully separate the hair and cover it evenly. They sat quietly while he worked, Victor’s blue eyes tracing the delicate movements of Yuuri’s fingers. Involuntarily, Yuuri leaned over him to tilt his chin back, briefly brushing the soft skin of his neck, and Victor held his breath.

At this point, most of the store was watching the award-winning hairdresser avidly, including the other clients who were just in for a trim. Sara snapped a couple of photos for Celestino, which she accidentally sent to the rest of the barbers in the store. 

Yuuri felt his phone buzz but ignored it, focussed as he was on ensuring the colour was even.

“Does it burn?” He asked, swiftly wiping a smudge off Victor’s forehead before it settled. Victor shook his head once, and Yuuri nodded. “Good.”

It took about fifteen minutes this time to achieve the coverage Yuuri was happy with, so again he set the alarm on his phone before clearing up. 

As he pushed the colour trolley out the back, he felt the eyes of the room on him, and he nearly ran Emil over, who was walking directly towards him. 

“Oops, sorry Yuuri,” he chirped, sidestepping the Japanese man as he continued through the store.

When in the privacy of the mix room, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through the notifications that popped up. The first was a message from Celestino, telling him he needed to keep Nikiforov at the store until he got there. 

But how did he know?

This was when he saw the work’s group chat, which was blowing up with the news that the hottest TV personality was currently in their store, looking rather comfortable with their star barber. Yuuri zoomed in on the photo and nearly dropped the phone; Sara had caught the most intimate moment of the styling.

The photo had captured the moment Yuuri had tilted Victor’s head back, their faces visible in the mirror. Sunlight reflected off his glasses, so it wasn’t clear what he was looking at, but Victor’s large eyes were solely focussed on Yuuri. His cheeks were pink, and a small smile played at the corner of his lips. Yuuri’s stomach flipped.

He typed out a plea for this to remain strictly between them, and only Sara responded with a winky face. 

The more he looked at the photo, the more he grew to realise it wasn’t all  _that_ intimate. Or so he tried to convince himself. Being a hairdresser meant you got up close and personal with your clients, it was an intimate career, he reasoned, and the thought calmed him slightly. 

After drinking another bottle of water, his phone rang with the final alarm, so he stepped back out onto the shop floor to lead Victor back to the sinks. He worked quicker this time, scrubbing the hot dye deep into Victor’s scalp so that it washed out of the hair faster. He tried to keep his movements soft, but he knew he had to scrub harder to completely remove the foamy dye. Dark grey washed down the drain, revealing the deep grey hair and roots it had just dyed. Emil really had done a good job with the dye.

Yuuri towel dried Victor’s hair himself before blasting it with the high power hairdryer, shaking strands through his hair delicately. 

Combined with the fan, the hair was dry fairly quickly, but it had poofed out slightly. Yuuri considered it for a moment, amused at the frizziness he had created. Flicking the switch for the straighteners, he quickly spritzed a heat protection at Victor’s head before carefully dragging the ceramic over the hair. He was close to Victor’s face now, gently separating strands and pulling them down over his face. Victor just watched, his eyes following Yuuri’s as he worked. 

The smell of burnt hair replaced the chemical smell burning in Yuuri’s nose, but it was a smell he liked, weirdly enough. To him, it was the mark of a job well done, and he could actively see the progress he had made. There was a new vibrancy in Victor’s hair, the platinum retaining some semblance of the ash blue colour powder, leaning towards a very,  _very_  gentle lilac in the sunlight. Only Yuuri would notice this, of course, and he examined the roots to make sure they had taken the colour correctly, which they had. He was impressed with his work; he never expected it to turn out as well as it always did.

After smoothing the final strands of Victor’s hair, he was satisfied with his work. Although there was a nagging feeling in the far reaches of his mind that he had forgotten something important. He ignored this, instead choosing to quickly spray over Victor’s head with sticky hairspray, gently teasing volume with his fingertips, before slapping the top of the chair. This was the part he loved, watching the client admire the handiwork, especially those that he had never worked with before.

Victor leaned towards the mirror, carefully pulling strands in front of his eyes and out into the light to examine the colour. A moment passed before he actually turned in the chair to beam at Yuuri.

“Oh it’s wonderful! And the colour, it’s so different,” his eyes lit up as he spoke, and Yuuri smiled sheepishly.

“Im glad you like it,” he said. He leaned forward to unclip Victor’s apron, carefully peeling it off his chest. It was hot, and fluttered in the wind from the fan as he shook it out. 

Victor pulled his phone out and turned back towards the mirror.

“Can I post a picture on Instagram? I’ll be sure to tag you, of course,” he had already opened the app on his phone, watching Yuuri in the mirror as he asked.

“Erm, sure, I’m usually not in the photos,” Yuuri mumbled, standing carefully to the left but behind the chair. In one swift movement he had slicked his hair back, using some residue from the products he had used on Victor’s hair but ultimately relying on his glasses to hold the sweaty hair back. There was nothing worse than a hairdresser with awful hair themselves, and he could see in the mirror the heat of the day had taken its toll.

He smiled, falsely, actively posing for the photo, his eyes looking in the general direction of the blurry reflection of the phone in the mirror. He heard the shutter sound a couple of times before Victor nodded, satisfied.

“Fantastic. Well, Yuuri, I’m impressed. You may have put my own barber out of business,” he laughed, standing up and starting towards Sara. “How much?”

“That’ll be $90, Mr Nikiforov,” she smiled, inputting the amount into the register.

“Ah, well, here, keep the change,” he winked, handing over two crisp $100 dollar bills and turning to Yuuri, who was still at his station. “Thanks again, Yuuri,” he waved, and left the store, crossing the street and turning right.

Yuuri hadn’t even noticed that he was the last customer, but he was relieved. Slumping into his chair, he pulled his phone out just as Celestino ran into the store, panting slightly.

“You’ve just missed him,” Sara said, not looking up from the register.

“Dammit! How was he? Did you do it right?” He demanded of Yuuri. 

“Yeah, he loved it,” Yuuri smiled. 

“He loved  _more_ than the dye job,” Michele teased, laughing as he unhooked his apron from around his neck. Celestino looked quizzically at Yuuri, who was now blushing slightly.

“He’s just enthusiastic, he  _is_ on TV,” Yuuri reasoned, earning him a nudge.

“Hey, maybe he’ll come back!” Celestino beamed. 

“His own hairdresser comes back in a couple of weeks, I doubt he’ll be back, but he was lovely,” Yuuri mused, absentmindedly scrolling through his Instagram, searching for Victor’s username. He would have to ask Phichit when he got home.

“Well, he left a $110 tip, so I hope he comes back,” Sara dropped the money on the counter for Yuuri, who stared at the notes.

“Wow, he must have liked you,” Celestino laughed, grabbing the notes and handing them to Yuuri. Yuuri just shook his head.

“Tip jar, we can go out Saturday, if we make it that far. How long until the engineers-” Celestino shook his head, cutting Yuuri short.

“Pushed us back til Monday, said that if we’ve managed the past couple of days, a few more won’t hurt, and it’s supposed to cool down by Thursday,” he looked visibly annoyed at this, so Yuuri decided not to push it. 

Instead, they sat quietly waiting for the clock to hit 5:30, which meant they would be free to leave. Michele had finished cleaning, so he chose to stand at the till with his back to Emil, who was stood near the front, glancing up from his phone at Sara every so often. The other barbers had left halfway through Yuuri’s final job, and they would be in an hour earlier tomorrow to compensate. 

The second hand slowly crept past the 7, then the 8, guiding the minute hand as it stretched towards the 6. Now they had stopped, the heat grew unbearable, and the final seconds of the day dragged longer than any other. All eyes were now on the clock above the door, watching as finally, the second hand hit 11, and then 12, the minute hand closing the small gap to mark 5:30. 

“Well, great job. Tomorrow, bring all the water you want, and don’t hesitate to take a break. That means you, Katsuki. I know you hate stopping but I don’t want to be sending you to the hospital with heat stroke, okay? I appreciate you guys keeping us open. I’ll be in first thing, so if you feel unwell please call and let me know,” he looked around at his employees with a soft smile on his face, proof that he genuinely did care. 

The barbers and Sara barrelled out the door, Yuuri in particular keen to get home. It had been a long day, and tomorrow he knew he had much of the same to look forward to. 

After walking the short distance to his apartment block, and taking the elevator to his floor, he fumbled with his keys. As he stood in the doorway, his limbs ached for the cool shower that was waiting on the other side of the door. The metal slipped between his fingers, but he eventually managed to push through the fog to open the door. As he stepped into the apartment, grateful for the cool air that hit his face, he paused. 

Then he remembered.

“I forgot to cut his hair!”

* * *

When the sun came up the next morning, it was hidden behind a thick blanket of heavy, humid cloud. Yuuri woke to dense raindrops tapping at his window, and grey light shining through the glass. He blinked at the orange numbers on his digital clock, which stated it was 10:17am. 

10:17.

He was late. He scrambled to pull on his work uniform, rummaging through his wardrobe panicked before he remembered he didn’t actually need it that day. Throwing on the shorts he wore yesterday, and one of the white t-shirts now scattered on his bed, he grabbed his phone, glasses, and keys before shoving his feet into his tattered Vans, and running through the apartment.  
A voice called a good morning from the bathroom as the door clicked shut behind him, but he didn’t have time. He ran the whole way to the barber shop, ducking and weaving amongst the bustling street. Celestino was in this morning, and he was sure his first appointment wasn’t until half 10, but he was panicked. 

Rain spattered against his glasses, and he could barely see when he arrived at the store. Despite the storm, the air was still thick, and Yuuri had sweat straight through his fresh shirt. He was panting, leaning against the shop window to catch his breath. 

The front door was shut, which was strange, given the fact that the rain actually intensified the heat. As he pushed the large gold handle, he was surprised to be met with a blast of cooling air ruffling his hair. The music was muffled slightly by the whir of the large air con fans above them, generating this refreshing air. 

Celestino stood behind the counter, leaning over Sara as he talked her through the clients for that day. He looked up and smiled as Yuuri walked in, pointing to the fans.

“And thank  _you_ for this,” he grinned, clapping his hands together in joy. Yuuri was still confused.

“How-?” One of the other barbers piped up.

“Your famous friend yesterday organised for his own personal air con guy to come and fix it for us,” JJ said, turning from his clean shave customer. He had foam on his arm, and the knife gleamed as he waved it about. Yuuri noticed that he was in his uniform.

In fact, so were the other barbers, including Sara, who’s uniform was the same as the barber’s with the addition of a loose silver and purple tie. Yuuri was the only one in his regular clothes.

“I see you didn’t get my message, then,” Celestino chided lightly. 

“I’ll go and change-” again, Yuuri was interrupted.

“No time, your next appointment is here,” Sara nodded behind Yuuri at a sombre figure in the rain.

He sighed, and reached over the counter for a protective apron. At least that matched.

* * *

The rest of the day passed without incident, and the next day was essentially the same. Same old clients, with the same old requests for the same bland hair style. Yuuri found himself watching either the clock or the door, waiting for someone interesting to walk in. Someone who he had only half finished the job for.

Somebody who, apparently, spent the whole time he was in the shop flirting with him.

He sighed, and leaned against the cool shelf just below his mirror, watching the barbers behind him working at their stations, when his vision into the room was blocked by a tall, slender figure.

It was Victor, standing with his arms folded and leaning against the back of the chair, pulling it back slightly and lifting Yuuri with it. 

“Hello, Yuuri. I was on my way home the other day and I realised I’d paid for a cut and colour but only had my colour done! Must have been the heat,” Victor laughed, narrowing his eyes naturally with his smile. “Anyway, if you have a minute, I’d love for you to cut my hair.” Victor smiled as he spoke, his mouth forming a heart shape around certain words. Yuuri jumped out of his seat and glanced at the clock, before looking at Sara. She searched the calendar, before mouthing that Yuuri had ten minutes.

Ten minutes. He’d completed a cut in less time.

“I am sorry about that, I realised when I got home but we had no way of contacting you to invite you back,” he said. Victor took his seat, and Yuuri could fully appreciate the light grey jeans, and blue and white striped v neck Victor had chosen to wear. They were both tight fitting, particularly the jeans, and he was wearing the same loafers he had worn the other day.

Yuuri threw the same cape over him, and fastened it in the same way he had last time, fumbling slightly with the loose clasp on the end. Again, Victor smiled at him in the mirror, and Yuuri was struck with a weird sense of déjà vu.

“I’m glad you didn’t, because now I get to see these dashing uniforms of yours,” Victor nodded his approval at Yuuri’s uniform, slightly concealed beneath his apron.

“Oh, thank you. And thanks for the air con,” Yuuri motioned above him with his free hand as he sprayed Victor’s hair with water. He had eight minutes left.

“I’m sorry, this might be a little rushed,” Yuuri apologised, pulling strands of Victor’s prominent fringe through his fingers. He pushed his glasses off his face and started to trim, holding the hair between his fingers as he clicked the scissors together.

He was close to Victor’s face. Although he could feel his breath on the back of his hand as he worked, the time pressure ensured that he was focussed. He glanced behind him at the clock; six minutes remained.

As snippets of hair fell across his shoulders, Victor just watched Yuuri work, amazed that he could work so well at such a speed. His hands worked flawlessly, always threading the right amount of hair through his fingertips before cutting through the split ends. Celestino appeared behind the chair when Yuuri had four minutes left, sweeping as Yuuri moved around the leather. He shaped the hair above the ears, finally brushing the front through his fingers again, feeling for any rogue layers. There were none, so he gave it a quick blast with the hair dryer, shaking with his fingers through the final two minutes he had left.

The doorbell chimed just as Yuuri clicked the hairdryer off. Sara clapped, and Celestino patted him on the back as Victor pulled the apron away and admired his reflection. 

Again, Yuuri had done a flawless job.

“Wow, thank you, Yuuri,” Victor grinned, his mouth forming that heart shaped smile over Yuuri’s name. Yuuri shrugged, and Celestino pulled him into half a hug.

“Thank you so much for choosing Fitzgerald’s, Mr Nikiforov,” Celestino extended a hand for Victor to shake, which he took.

“Would you like a photo? You could put it onto your website, or whatever,” Victor held his phone up, and Celestino clapped Yuuri on the back again.

“Yes, let’s. Sara,” Celestino called, beckoning her forward. “A photo, please.”

Victor stood in the middle, his arm around Yuuri’s neck as he pulled him closer for the photo. Again, Yuuri pushed his glasses over his head to sweep his hair back, holding the same half smile he had had for the previous photo. Celestino beamed, and Victor flashed his trademark smile. Yuuri could smell Victor’s cologne, recognising it as the one Phichit had bought him for Christmas last year. He flushed a little at the thought, pulling away from the embrace in order to tend to his next customer.

“Until next time, Yuuri,” Victor called, waving as he left the store. Yuuri watched him walk out of view beyond the window as he swept the seat of hair. 

He couldn’t believe he’d gotten away with that. Celestino wasn’t too mad, but it was such a big risk to have taken. He couldn’t dwell on it for too long, though, as his next client had taken the seat, waiting to be styled.

* * *

The latter part of the week flew by, as it always did for Yuuri. Thursday through to Saturday saw him fully booked with only 20 minutes for lunch. He still watched the door between clients, or washes, hoping that Victor had forgotten something or that Yuuri had forgotten something, but he never did. Instead, Yuuri settled for following his Instagram and Twitter posts, scrolling through the feeds during his lunch break and at home, admiring the work of the designer.

His clothes were elegant, and a little eccentric, and for the brief encounters Yuuri had had with him, he could see his personality in the fabric. Most of the models wore the over the top catwalk styles, but links to his website showed the same simple style that Victor had worn himself. A small tab on the inside label with an elegantly embroidered 'V’ signified a genuine product, according to Instagram, and his clothes had been sold all across the world. 

One model consistently popped up in Victor’s photos, a sullen looking teenager with the same name as Yuuri. He very rarely glanced at the camera, often staring broodingly just beyond the lens. Yuuri scrolled past most of these, more interested in Victor’s personal posts, which were few and far between. The most recent was, of course, the photo he had taken post dye, which had accumulated over 20,000 likes, including one from Phichit’s account. 

By the end of the week, the barber shop was fully booked for a solid month, and they were turning down as many bookings as they were making, all because of a recommendation from V. Nikiforov. 

The tips that the staff had made throughout the week were spent on Saturday night, as the shop closed an hour early and the barbers were allowed to let their hair loose.

That Saturday they decided to hit their favourite bar across the street from the shop, which served delicious cocktails at a reasonable price. Celestino always bought the first round before leaving, allowing the barbers a night to wind down properly.

After a couple of drinks, and a long day at work, the barbers were tipsy. The hot, summer night did nothing to help their situation. 

JJ was teasing Seung Gil, the latest addition to the team, because he had accidentally shaved one boys hair a little too short. Seung Gil was a man of few words, so he simply chose to ignore JJ, who quickly got bored of his game. This lead him to teasing Emil about his obvious crush, and the fact Emil had a large black X across his hand to stop him from drinking in the bar. It didn’t help his case with Michele, who usually drank way to much and ended up swinging for anyone who even looked at his sister.

Yuuri did get along with the other barbers, and did enjoy their company but he tried not to get roped into the drama. Tonight, he was sat on his phone, just away from the group so that no one could see how far he had scrolled on Victor’s profile. 

As the night wore on, the group broke apart. Emil was the first to leave, and Sara offered to walk home with him. She also had a black mark across the back of her hand, so they were too sober to deal with the rest of the group. They slipped away, unnoticed for the first half an hour of their absence. Seung Gil was next, after JJ latched back into him for attention. He just rolled his eyes and stalked out of the bar, shoving through the crowd rather aggressively. Yuuri tried to make a mental note to try harder with the newest barber, before downing the shot that JJ had just called over for them. Michele refused to do his, instead choosing to call his sister and yell over the loud music that she was stupid and shouldn’t have left with Emil. She couldn’t hear him.

And then Yuuri. His friends were too drunk to notice that he should not have had that final shot. Or taken Michele’s.

When he was drunk he was prone to making stupid decisions, ones that he would regret the next day.

Like the decision to send Victor Nikiforov a direct message on Instagram.


	2. Peroxide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He'd planned a day alone at the studio tomorrow - a jog at 8am then working solidly from 9 straight through to the night. Usually he would already be in bed, no exceptions, fast asleep and preparing for his fully productive day tomorrow. Makkachin would be cuddled under the sheets with him, both sleeping soundly while the rest of the city partied, and he honestly didn’t mind. He was used to coming home alone after a long day at the office, eating dinner alone, sleeping alone, and being alone._
> 
>  
> 
> _But the beautiful barber who he barely knew was asking him to go for a drink._
> 
>  
> 
> _And surely it would be rude to refuse such a cute boy a drink?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, part 2 of the Barber AU! If people do like this, I may write more, but we will see how it goes!!
> 
> Beta'd by the lovely [izzyisozaki](http://izzyisozaki.tumblr.com), who read through the fic as fast as she could, and provided some wonderful insight and corrections (unsurprisingly, I got lazy with my own edits having a Beta :-))
> 
> Anyway, enjoy part 2! ✨

_ "So, you've replaced me already? I've only been gone for four days, mon ami," _ a voice teased from Victor's phone, which was propped up against the wall while he cooked a late dinner.

It was 10:45, usually way past Victor’s dinner time, but he had spent all day working with his models, trying to decide what to incorporate in his Spring/Summer collection for next year. The day had dragged terribly. His penthouse studio space overlooked a gloriously sun-kissed Central Park, so for the best part of the afternoon, Victor had stared longingly out the window as children ran after Frisbees, families with covered strollers fanned themselves as they walked towards a line of ice cream carts, and couples sat on blankets feeding each other strawberries and champagne. Or so he imagined from all the way up in the clouds. Three times his most difficult model, Russian star Yuri Plisetsky, attempted to kick him off his stool to get his attention. Only once did he succeed.

Night finally descended on the city, so they called it a day. Each went their separate ways. Yuri was muttering into his phone in sharp Russian as he walked away from the group, turning the first corner he reached and ducking out of sight as soon as possible. Isabella Yang, his latest recruit and friendliest model, smiled cheerfully as she waved him off, walking in the same direction that Yuri had, trying to catch up with him. Victor was left with his long-term mentor and closest confidante, Yakov Feltsman, a surly Russian who was a man of few words, unless those words involved critiquing Victor, of course. He considered asking if he wanted to go for a drink, but Yakov huffed a farewell, and stalked into the darkness.

So, Victor found himself alone, strolling the two blocks to his apartment, which was dimly lit in the ever-darkening sky. On his walk, he passed all sorts of night revellers, mostly already drunk and moving between bars. He had already had his fair share of late nights when he started in the business as a model, and while he remembered the parties fondly, most of his alcohol consumption was now in the closed, lonely walls of his apartment, quiet, allowing him to think over the day’s events and unwind.

He thought of the remnants of last night’s wine as the elevator lifted him to his floor. Sleepiness settled in his bones, and he longed for the comfort of his apartment, and his companion. When he finally reached, and opened his door, he was almost tackled to the ground by his beloved dog Makkachin, cool paws pushing against his shirt demanding attention. A note from the dogsitter had been swept off the table with the poodle’s excited sweeping tail, which stated that he had waited until 8:30pm to leave, and that he had left Victor a voicemail also explaining his absence. He winced in guilt at having left his dog for so long, so he spent ten minutes giving her as much attention as he physically could, even picking her up and carrying her to the couch. When she was satisfied, she hopped off, leading him to the kitchen, and he followed willingly.

He had left the living room in darkness, only lighting the kitchen so that he didn’t burn himself or make a mess. The naked white lightbulbs that hung above the island reflected off the glossy cupboards and tiles that lined the walls, illuminating the space brilliantly. He had called Chris, and started prepping his food, which was currently burning.

Victor focussed on the sizzling in the pan, distracted from the call, but he turns momentarily to acknowledge the mock hurt tone from the phone.

"Try five. And no, Christophe, you haven't been replaced," Victor rolled his eyes. He wasn't even hungry, but he knew he hadn't eaten all day. If he didn’t look after himself, his work suffered greatly. He had learned that the hard way. Besides, the due date on his eggs was approaching rapidly, and they needed to be cooked. That was one of the downsides of living alone; a refrigerator full of food that almost always gets thrown away.

A soft bark echoed through the feedback from his phone, and a small Chris laughed on the screen as Makkachin’s fluffy head jumped up into view, sniffing the small device curiously. His greying fur wriggled with excitement, and Chris cooed into the phone.

"Makkachin, down!" Victor chided lightly, pulling Makkachin’s paws carefully off the wooden countertop and lowering them gently to the floor. He shook his head, picking up the phone while his food cooked. "You've not been replaced, but Chris, he's gorgeous," he sighed, leaning wistfully on his elbow as he remembered the barber's soft skin, his messy hair, the slightly skewed glasses as he had leaned close to Victor’s face, carefully considering his every move, every trim.

Chris raised an eyebrow before asking the million-dollar question.

_ "So, did you get his number?" _

Victor shook his head.

"I got his Instagram," he turned back to his food, ignoring Chris's scoff.

_ "I can get his Instagram right now," _ the screen paused while Chris proved his point.  _ "Wow, he really is cute. Didn’t you say he wears glasses?" _ His picture blurred while the call was paused, waiting until he returned to the screen. Victor nodded despite the fact that Chris couldn't see him.

"He doesn't wear them in photos for some reason," Victor plated up his omelette, the steam bringing the smell of chives to his nose, immediately provoking an angry growl from his stomach. Maybe he was hungry.

_ "Maybe he doesn’t like them, or maybe they're for show," _ Chris reasoned, blinking back into life on the screen. Victor shrugged.

"I’m starving, so I’ll text you later if I don’t pass out,” Victor carried the phone in one hand, his plate in the other, and a glass of wine tucked between his elbow and his chest awkwardly. Luckily, it was only a short walk to the couch, which welcomed Victor as he sank into the cushions. Chris nodded, and blew a kiss at the screen.

_ “Au revoir,”  _ Chris ended the call before Victor could, and silence descended onto the apartment.

Before he ate, Victor turned on the large TV that hung on the wall opposite the couch, flicking idly through the channels until he stopped at a repeat of  _ Planet Earth _ on the Discovery Channel. Balancing his plate on one hand, and spooning food into his mouth using the other, he watched as a family of penguins walked across the blustery surface of the Arctic tundra. The bright white snowscape sent a shiver down Victor’s spine, despite the still pressing heat of the summer night, as it threw the apartment into a bath of cool white light. Once they had reached safety, he sank back into the pillows. Having finished his plate of food, he swapped the ceramic for the wine glass, and while he watched the screen, his mind wandered down the street, a few blocks away, to Fitzgerald’s.

Yuuri Katsuki was not Victor's usual type. He was shorter than usual, but only slightly, and while he was fit he was nothing like the athletic beaus he usually associated with. Not that that was a bad thing, per say. Just that it would cause a stir in the media if he pursued this any further.

But how would he pursue it any further when the barber was clearly shy? He hadn’t responded to Victor’s playful flirting when he was in the shop the first time, and the second time was such a swift visit there hadn’t been the chance to tease. Unless he personally invited him to style his models, there wasn’t really a social setting that put them together.

While he returned his plate to the kitchen, his phone chimed from the living room table, flickering into life. He washed up, and when he returned the phone pinged again, reminding him of the notification. As he approached the table he could see that it was from Instagram, so it was probably another comment on one of his photos. He thought he'd turned those off long ago.

To his surprise, when he eventually picked it up, Yuuri's username flashed on the screen, followed by a typo filled message.

**Heyyu Victor.. how ste you,?**

**I an ay thiud bar now, vy the barber shop.,.**

**You**

**Should coneme**

**Should come**

**K thanks, ayuuri xxc**

He laughed, his heart fluttering in his chest. Maybe he hadn’t been so subtle after all.

He'd planned a day alone at the studio tomorrow - a jog at 8am then working solidly from 9 straight through to the night. Usually he would already be in bed, no exceptions, fast asleep and preparing for his fully productive day tomorrow. Makkachin would be cuddled under the sheets with him, both sleeping soundly while the rest of the city partied, and he honestly didn’t mind. He was used to coming home alone after a long day at the office, eating dinner alone, sleeping alone, and being alone.

But the beautiful barber who he barely knew was asking him to go for a drink.

And surely it would be rude to refuse such a cute boy a drink?

It was late, way later than the usual calling time for casual drinks, and he considered abandoning the idea all together. But Victor was known for taking risks, and surely this was one of the biggest risks he could take? The thought of what tonight could bring him caused his skin to tingle in anticipation, and that was all the encouragement he needed to leave.

He still decided to consult his best friend. For the second time that night, he video called Chris, and true to form, Chris picked up immediately.

_ “And pray tell, what brings you back?”  _ Chris cocked his head, waiting for an answer.

“It’s him,” Victor smiled.

_ “Why? What has he done? He hasn’t messaged you, has he?” _ Chris demanded.

“I’m not dressed for a night on the town,” Victor pondered, ignoring Chris’s question.

_ “He wants you to meet him? Where?”  _ Chris insisted, and again he was ignored.

“Help me choose what to wear,” Victor led Chris via his phone into his walk-in wardrobe, where he propped him against the dressing table mirror, and rummaged through the long rail that held all his shirts.

They were organised by colour, although most of them were either white, grey, or black. The greyscale collection was at least sixty percent white at the moment, given the fact it was still the height of summer, but black was starting to creep back into season, slowly and surely infiltrating the row of white, and he always made sure he was seen wearing next season’s collection for a few weeks before official release. It was this section he searched through, mind set on one particular shirt that he knew would be popular come fall.

When he returned to the phone, Chris was blurred, checking notifications while he waited. After Victor coughed, he refocussed, blinking against the pixels until Victor’s figure, and the shirt it was holding, was a crystal-clear image. He beckoned Victor closer, and his face lit up when he saw the detail. It was a gorgeous black and white striped shirt with a lace embroidered panel on the front, the sleeves still rolled from the last time Victor had worn it.

_ “Is that Burberry? It’s gorgeous, I must steal it,”  _ Chris admired the lace work, and Victor deflated slightly.

“It’s from my Autumn/Winter collection. I showed you already, when we went for brunch last week,” he narrowed his eyes at his friend, who glanced back over the detail.

_ “Oh, well, I don’t have my glasses on do I, mon ami? Put it on then,”  _ Chris reasoned, smiling innocently as Victor unbuttoned his current shirt.

“You are by far the least observant person I have ever met,” Victor mumbled, slipping his arms into the long sleeves. It was a snug fit, but the material was surprisingly light. He stuck with his jeans, and slipped his feet into his comfortable grey loafers. In the full-length mirror, he admired his outfit, adjusting the sleeves so that they were rolled correctly. After he was satisfied with his outfit, he abandoned his phone to visit his bathroom, where he gently smoothed moisturiser into his cheeks, caressing his face softly to distribute the cream. When he was satisfied, he quickly brushed his teeth before returning to the walk-in wardrobe, where he spritzed the air around him with cologne, allowing it to fall onto his skin and clothes.

He stood back from the dresser, holding his arms out and twirling so that Chris could admire his final look.

_ “Victor, you do look dashing,”  _ Chris flirted, blowing the screen a kiss as he was led through the apartment, and out of the door. He called goodbye to Makkachin through the receiver as Victor mussed his ears, kissing his head and promising to be home soon.

Excitement rippled along his spine, sending a shiver through his shoulders that settled in the pit of his stomach. He hadn’t felt this emotion in such a long time, he almost forgot what it was called.

As he stepped into the mirrored elevator, he regarded his reflection carefully in the door, smiling at the tint of purple as his hair caught the light. Yuuri’s handiwork really was something to be admired. He was still on a video call to Chris, but he clicked to turn off that feature, instead holding the handset to his ear.

_ “This is like a scene from a movie,”  _ Chris chimed. Victor walked the length of the lobby, waving to the doorman as he left the building. He was hit with a blast of warm air, grateful that he hadn’t bothered with a jacket.

_ “So, what now?”  _ Chris asked, as Victor raised a hand to hail a cab.

"I'm going down to the shop now," Victor explained, slipping into the car that had pulled up to the kerb next to him.

_ "Okay, and then? What's the master plan?" _ Chris's voice gave way to his excitement, which only heightened Victor's enthusiasm.

“Oh, we meet up, I give him a kiss on the cheek because how  _ Vogue _ of me, then we head to the bar, take a couple of tequila shots and hopefully head back to mine to finish off the wine I started. Then, the next morning, I cook him breakfast and we fall madly in love. We retire to the beach, adopt a couple more dogs, and live happily ever after," Victor gushed, sighing dreamily again as he pictured the two of them standing on the seafront, old and happy together.

_ "That is sickening. The first part though, sounds promising. Tell me more about what happens at the apartment," _ Chris verbally rolled his eyes, but the silence on the end of the phone was charged, as he waited intently for Victor to speak again.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Victor retorted, earning a laugh from the phone.

_ “Oh come on, you tell me everything, usually,”  _ Chris teased.

“Probably nothing, because considering the state of his message, he’s too drunk to see straight. Either that, or he forgot his glasses at home,” Victor laughed, searching through his apps to send a screencap of the message to Chris. He waited patiently, until Chris’s voice called back through the phone.

_ “Victor, honey, this is a booty call,” _ Chris cooed innocently.

“No, it’s not, he just wants a drink,” Victor defended, jolting forward slightly as the taxi ground to a halt. He recognised the darkened front of the barber shop, and glanced across the street to the bar that was pulsing with a low red light. It was tiny, shabby-chic, and the opposite of the bars Victor usually haunted. Even from this distance he could hear the music from the open bar front, anonymous guitars and drums fitting the anonymous hole-in-the-wall venue.

"I'm here now, I'll text you," Victor curtly replied, clicking the phone into silence. He paid the cab driver, who wished him luck as he stepped out onto the road. Quickly, he ran across the deserted street and through the door into the densely-packed bar.

He was tall enough to see over the heads that milled near the bar, which was proudly advertising three tequila shots for $15, and across the dancefloor to the booths that lined the walls. On the stage behind the dancefloor, an unknown band burst into life, guitars wailing and cymbals crashing as they careered into a well-known cover song. Lights flashed across the room, dazzling against the darkened backdrop.

Still, even from the door, Victor could see Yuuri, sitting in one of the furthest booths with two of the barbers he worked with in the shop. He was squinting in the dark, glasses perched precariously on his head and holding his hair off his face. A laugh creased his cheeks, possibly at the expense of one of his companions, but his dark eyes roamed the room anxiously, clearly looking for something, or someone specific.

Victor watched patiently, waiting until Yuuri’s drunk eyes landed on him.

When they finally saw Victor, Yuuri blinked, before nodding his glasses onto his face. Victor was certain his cheeks grew even darker as their eyes caught each other. He waved a hand, pointing to the bar, inviting Yuuri to join him. Yuuri obviously understood, because he excused himself and clumsily weaved his way through the people crowding the room. From the booth, Victor failed to notice the other two barbers, clamouring over each other to catch sight of the man Yuuri had abandoned them for.

It took a while, longer than Victor liked, but finally Yuuri was in front of Victor, cheeks flushed with alcohol and – what was that glint in his eye? Soft hands were on Victor’s hips, pulling him close to kiss his cheek, before taking a hand and guiding him through the crowd until they were both leaning against the bar, waving down a bartender.

Victor was stunned to silence with Yuuri’s confidence, a stark cry from the shy barber who had failed to notice the obvious advances of his client. While their chests leaned against the bar, waiting for the bartender to notice them, Yuuri laced their fingers together, perhaps involuntarily, and Victor’s heart leapt to his throat. He couldn’t look away from the man who looked like the cute barber, but was taking control and leading the situation, even without Victor’s prompts.

Finally, the man serving drinks leaned over to Yuuri, who ordered for both of them, taking his hand back from Victor to rummage through his wallet for the cash. Victor tried to hide his disappointment, watching the bartender mix some bizarre concoction in two shot glasses, before working on a less menacing pair of matching cocktails.

He set the shot glasses on fire, before turning back to the tall glasses, leaving the men to take their shots.

Yuuri handed Victor his, slender fingers taking the warm glass tentatively, unsure on whether he would lose his eyebrows if he took the shot.

He watched Yuuri take his first, extinguishing the flame before knocking it straight back, not even hesitating as the liquid fell to the back of his throat. He barely flinched. A laugh played on Yuuri’s lips, as he guided Victor’s shot to his lips to blow out the flame, and turned the glass back to Victor’s face, indicating he should take it.

Surprisingly, the liquid was sickly sweet, reminiscent of cough medicine and leaving a cotton-candy aftertaste. But it did make Victor cringe slightly, and he gratefully accepted what he assumed was a Tequila Sunrise. The gorgeous colour of the red and gold liquids blended in the tall glass, which was already collecting condensation as it was handed over the bar by the miserable bartender.

When they had their drinks, Yuuri steered them over to the table, lacing his fingers again through Victor’s as he led them through hot bodies pressed together, spilt beer, and the smell of cigarettes. Victor was lost in the warm fingers locked with his, blind to the crowd surrounding him and the collective stains that were accumulating on the back of his shirt as he clearly knocked drinks over himself. His eyes already were growing fuzzy, and he briefly wondered what was in the shot Yuuri had insisted he take, before the floor space opened in front of them, and they were stood at Yuuri’s booth.

The two barbers, both of which Victor vaguely recognised from his visit to the salon, glanced knowingly at each other and then at Yuuri, who caught Victor’s leg as he kicked the closest one under the table. They sipped their drinks, all four looking at each other, unsure of what to say.

The first to speak was the one opposite Victor, who leaned forward and shouted across the sticky table and the cool drinks.

“Did Yuuri invite you?” His voice carried well over the music, and Victor just nodded in response.

“I told you he would come,” he shouted to the barber next to him, who begrudgingly handed over a ten-dollar bill. Victor shot Yuuri a glance, before sinking the cup in front of him. He wished he could be alone with Yuuri, but he was unsure of how to make such a situation materialise. He was curious, wondering if he could somehow bring back that spark of confidence that had clearly led to Yuuri inviting Victor down to the bar, extending to the held hands and raised glasses.

“So, do you come here often?” Victor leaned in to whisper the stupid question, unable to form any other words in the awkward silence between them. Yuuri nodded, blushing slightly at the obvious attempt that Victor was making.

“Yeah, all the time. They let the younger barbers stay with us before 11, and we give them haircuts,” Yuuri slurred his words slightly, but he was still coherent, Victor was pleased to find. Across the table, he could feel the eyes of the other two barbers, who watched as Victor’s arm rested just inches from Yuuri across the back of the seat.

“And how much have you had to drink?” Victor breathed, leaning even closer to the barber, his breath in his ear. Yuuri nodded again.

“Enough to know what is probably going to happen after this drink,” he turned to face Victor, eyes dark and a flirtatious smile revealing a row of brilliant white teeth. He bit his lip, before leaning forward, almost as though he was leaning in to kiss Victor.

But he didn’t. He turned to take a drink, and Victor swallowed dryly.

They sipped throughout the tension that had naturally fallen on the table between them, glancing sideways at each other and always catching sight of the other while the two opposite them spoke amongst themselves.

When Yuuri finished his drink, he stood up, hands slapped against the table, facing down to Victor.

“I want to dance,” he exclaimed, attempting to clamber over Victor’s legs.

“Then I know just the place.”

Victor stood up, allowing Yuuri past and begrudgingly beckoning that the other two barbers should follow. Outside, the four of them waited under the streetlight while Victor called for an Uber, which turned up in seconds. They shuffled in, the dark haired barber in the passenger seat, and Yuuri squeezed between the barber who had lost the bet and Victor in the back.

They drove in silence, an anonymous pop track pumping through the speakers of the car. Yuuri stared out the front window, watching the glittering lights from the cars and the streetlamps merge and dance on the road before him. The window dashed light out from the front of the car, and he remembered he didn’t have his glasses on, which was why nothing was focussed. Alongside his thigh, he could feel the warmth of Victor’s leg, and it made him feel a little nervous.

Victor tried his best to focus on the phone screen in front of him, texting his friends to see if they were still out at the club he was taking them to. Isabella replied, stating that she would come and collect them when they arrived, and that she was already pretty drunk.

The cab ride seemed to take forever, but they only drove a few blocks away, before they pulled up in front of a bar with flashing blue lights pulsing through the doorway.

The barber in the front seat gasped, before turning to Yuuri.

“Yuuri, we’re, we’re at Vangarde,  _ Vangarde! _ ” His voice broke in excitement, and Yuuri shook his head.

“Chill out, JJ, you could never land a model anyway. Besides, this isn’t where we’re really going, is it?” He turned to Victor with glassy eyes, waiting for a confirmation that they were not really going to be embarrassing themselves in this expensive dance club with their less than expensive attire.

“Au contraire, Yuuri,” Victor winked, thanking the driver and shuffling out the car. JJ pumped his fist in the air, before joining Victor on the street.

A hand with slender fingers hung in the air before Yuuri, who hesitated before the barber behind him shoved his shoulders forwards. Victor helped pull him out, and their hands lingered together for a fraction of a second, too long, and yet it wasn’t long enough.

JJ led the way, walking confidently up to the bouncer, and nodding as though he was to be let in at once. The wall of black shirts and folded arms shook their heads in unison, until Victor caught up with the excitable barber.

“Hey, they’re with me. Nikiforov, from the Yang party?” Victor glanced over the cufflinks and the collars of the smart shirts on their backs, and recognised his own handiwork. A small nod of his approval mirrored the nod of the shorter bouncer, who separated the curtain that concealed the entrance. JJ sprinted straight in and up the stairs, beckoned by the music that Victor could already feel in his chest. Yuuri involuntarily linked their hands, waiting for Victor to lead him up the stairs.

Mickey, the other barber, had slipped past them already, running after JJ, shouting that he refused to be the third-wheel. When they had vanished, Victor followed their footsteps, guiding Yuuri through the darkened corridor, and up to another set of steps that led to the VIP balcony that overlooked the dance floor.

When they pushed through the door to the second story, Yuuri gasped at the scene before him. Bottles and bottles of expensive vodka and champagne littered the tables, crystal glasses lying on their sides abandoned while the patrons of the VIP section danced on the small stage set up for them on the other side of the bar. Gorgeous men and women milled around near the bar, and couples sat in darkened corners, whispering and touching each other as though no one could see them, as though they were alone.

Victor led the way to the bar, and held Yuuri’s hand while he ordered them a couple of drinks. Yuuri watched in awe at the expensive vodka being poured in front of him, the flashing lights reflecting off the glass’s condensation and causing him to blink.

Behind him, Victor had turned to kiss a woman who he recognised vaguely from his Instagram. Clumsily, he slipped his glasses onto his face so he could see her properly, and he was taken aback by how beautiful she was.

Her low-cut dress sat on her slender frame just so that her collarbone was visible, the thin straps holding the glittering fabric over her shoulders so that she could dance and move without worrying about revealing herself. She pulled Yuuri in for a double cheek kiss before he could say anything, and Victor leaned close to his ear.

“Isabella Yang, one of my newest models,” he almost whispered, losing Yuuri’s hand to grab their drinks and lead them over to the table that Isabella pointed to. For some reason, JJ and Mickey were already there, huddled together and staring around at the models that surrounded them.

Isabella joined them after a minute, sitting opposite Yuuri and next to JJ, who pulled away from Mickey when this happened. His arm slung around Isabella’s chair, and he leaned forward to offer her a dance. She agreed, and allowed JJ to lead her to the dancefloor. The other models milling around dispersed, leaving Mickey with his phone, and Yuuri sitting close to Victor.

They drank in silence, the tension building once again as they sat close enough to touch, but neither one making the first move. Victor was really feeling the effects of the alcohol now, his body only used to a single glass of wine late at night or over dinner. It was the first time in years he had even ordered vodka, let alone the awful shot they had taken at the last place. He watched Yuuri tentatively, eyes roaming over the younger man’s face, and clothes, trying to gauge a response from his body language.

Eventually Mickey left, stalking off down the stairs, waving a goodbye and ignoring JJ, who called him to the dancefloor. Yuuri had slowly moved across the couch, his leg now touching Victor’s, causing the older man to hold his breath for a millisecond.

“I thought you wanted to dance,” Victor said, leaning more into the warmth of Yuuri through his jeans. He could feel the length of Yuuri’s thigh against his own, the skin pushing closer despite the fabric separating them. Yuuri shrugged.

“Maybe later,” he muttered, lowering his lashes and staring at Victor through his glasses with the same blush on his cheeks as he had when he had met Victor.

The tension holding them together was so fragile, like glass, Victor knew it was a matter of moments before it shattered. He clung to the flutter of anxiety in his chest, his heart beating against his ribcage almost in time to the bass that rippled through his skin, his hair hanging over his face only slightly obscuring the alcohol flush of his cheeks that mingled with what he knew was his obvious desire for the enigmatic barber sitting in front of him.

He was right. Isabella burst their bubble, clattering against the table and holding out two hands to each of them.

“Dance, dance, dance,” she repeated, wiggling her delicately painted fingers at them, the rings halfway along the knuckles catching in the light. Yuuri nodded, allowing her to haul him up, and Victor too obliged.

The three joined JJ on the dancefloor, who pulled Isabella close to him when she reached him, dipping her gracefully before pulling her up and catching her chin with his fingers. She laughed, kissing his cheek before twirling away from him.

Yuuri, meanwhile, continued to surprise Victor. The same confident hands that had pulled him for a kiss at the first bar were on his hips once more, hovering on the line where the denim met the skin of his lower back. Their bodies moved in time with the music that neither of them recognised, Yuuri pulling closer and closer, until he was pressed against Victor, and the older man’s hands were around his neck, on his lower back, pulling him as close as he physically could while their clothes still separated them.

Two thin layers of fabric sat between their chests, and Victor could see in Yuuri’s eyes he was too drunk to do or say anything that he wouldn’t regret in the morning. As much as he wished they could dance like this for the rest of the night, he delicately separated their bodies, the heat still radiating across the space he created, and turned to pull Isabella and JJ into their circle.

To his surprise, Isabella and JJ were no longer dancing. His hands were sliding across the back of her thigh, and she was kissing his neck, hair concealing the teeth that pulled at the sensitive skin beneath his ear. The flush that rose in his cheeks was dark, clear, and by the raise of his eyebrows, Isabella was guiding him through the way their night was to end.

Yuuri sheepishly looked at his feet dancing awkwardly now that he had caught sight of what Victor had. Victor bent down slightly, offering Yuuri to join him outside.

They glanced at the couple who were now kissing, before shaking their heads and turning away from the music, and the dancefloor.

As they had entered, Victor led Yuuri by the hand down the stairs, this time out into the milder night air. They hadn’t realised how damp the club had been, and the sweat that sparkled across their skin cooled them slightly, picking up the slightest breeze as they walked through the mostly empty streets.

They walked side by side, hands in pockets, first in silence and then wrapped in conversation. They spoke about their work, about the night they had just had, about families and pets, and as the hours passed, they walked circles around their respective apartments, together, sobering up as twilight faded in the sky.

Yuuri yawned in the pale light of the morning, and Victor watched him rub his eyes. He realised, as they approached the end of the street that Yuuri had pointed out long ago as his own, that he was falling in love. The passion and desire the two had felt in the haze of alcohol had cooled slightly during their walk, and Victor felt butterflies in his stomach as he watched Yuuri avoid his inevitable departure.

“This is me,” he beckoned behind him, to a slightly darkened street, and a row of graffiti-covered store shutters and flickering neon signs for 24 hour stores. Victor nodded, turning to face the man properly.

They looked at each other quietly, the light growing stronger above them, threatening to break the spell that twilight had cast when they left the champagne bubble of the club. Their bodies naturally drifted closer, before a cool hand was on the back of Yuuri’s neck, the other lifting the cold lenses away from his face, and warm hands were holding Victor’s lower back. Heads tilted, hair falling away, they kissed, sparks lighting the street in Victor’s mind as the tension that had hung above them the entire night caught fire, dissipating with every passing moment.

It was a quiet kiss, simple, sweet, like the two had just been for coffee in the late afternoon. Victor could feel the sun on his shoulders, could hear the buzz of the street and could feel the hands on his lower back as he leaned into the kiss, keeping it sweet but pulling Yuuri close to him.

When he opened his eyes, and the shorter man pulled away, the two stood in the same position, holding each other, still in the dark street, still blushing from the fading effects of the alcohol, still smiling at each other delicately.

After a few moments, Victor pulled his phone out of his pocket, and Yuuri did the same. Unfortunately, Victor’s was dead, so he recited his number from memory to Yuuri, who input the contact, before turning his attention to Victor.

“So, you’ll call me?” Victor asked, reluctantly stepping out of their embrace as a yawn took over his entire frame. Yuuri nodded, pulling his glasses back down and regarding Victor through the lenses.

“Yes. I’ll call,” he replied, before letting go of Victor completely, and turning to walk to his apartment.

Victor walked the opposite way, occasionally glancing back even though he could no longer see the Japanese man in the dark street. He strolled along the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, ready to collapse into bed, and dream of his incredibly attractive barber, and the mysterious hold he already had on him.

Morning broke, and the sunlight that dappled Victor’s face was a wonderful way to wake up.

In his arms, still snoozing, Makkachin had curled close to his chest, nestled in his arms and obviously comfortable. Victor’s head felt a little fuzzy, but he smiled into the empty room, as his freehand reached over to his bedside table to retrieve his phone.

It was 10:30, so he had managed to get at least 6 hours’ sleep, which was more than enough to at least make a start on his work, but he didn’t feel compelled to move. Instead, he scrolled through his notifications, searching for one particular name to flash on the screen.

Sadly, all of his messages were either from Chris or Yakov, both demanding two very different pieces of information. He decided to answer Chris first, as that would be the least taxing conversation. He clicked the icon to video call his friend, and waited a total of 3 seconds before Chris’s pixelated face appeared on the screen.

_ “Good morning, sleeping beauty,”  _ Chris cooed through the phone, eyes narrowed in suspicion at the relative smoothness of Victor’s hair, and the shadow of fur that was Makkachin’s tail near his face.

“No, Chris, he didn’t stay the night,” Victor pushed himself up, careful not to wake the sleeping form next to him, so that he could hold the phone more comfortably. Chris pressed his hand to his face in derision, shaking his head slowly.

_ “Victor, why on earth not?” _

“He was way too drunk, I could never take advantage of him like that,” Victor’s free hand absentmindedly smoothed Makkachin’s soft fur, carefully pulling at the curls so they stretched tight and bounced back into ringlets.

_ “So why did you go?” _

This question held Victor’s attention, and he paused for a moment, thinking about what had  _ actually _ inspired him to go out last night. Not only had he not brought Yuuri home, he had also ruined any chance he had of producing much useable work today.

The question hung in the air while Victor thought.

Why  _ had  _ he gone?

_ “Don’t tell me you have feelings for him. You’ve met him  _ once _ , chérie,”  _ Chris’s voice oozed sympathy, or pity, and Victor narrowed his eyes at his friend.

“You can't help what you feel, and I really like him. And I've met him three times, actually,” Victor defended, sighing despite himself. Chris just shook his head.

_ “So, what now?”  _ Chris’s question hung in the air, waiting for a response that never really came.

_ “Why don't you wait a couple of days and contact him again? Send him a message and invite him for dinner,”  _ Chris suggested.

Victor just nodded in response.

A notification fell onto the screen; Yakov was trying to call him.

“Gotta go, Yakov-” Chris needed no more explanation.

_ “Enjoy,”  _ he blew a kiss at the screen and ended the call just as Victor accepted his new one. Even before he clicked speaker, an angry voice boomed from the handset. It even woke Makkachin.

_ “Victor Nikiforov, where the hell are you? I've been waiting for three hours now, you are never going to survive next season if you don't get your head out of the clouds and into this studio in the next 15 minutes.” _

The line died before Victor could measure a response.

He sank back into the soft embrace of the duvet, material collecting around his chest as his hands twirled and played with Makkachin’s soft curls. His eyes darted to his phone every so often, disappointment pooling in his stomach when he realised every notification was not from Yuuri.

He waited.

Across town, in a significantly smaller apartment, the Japanese man that Victor was waiting on, was sound asleep. He stirred slightly, the wrinkled sheets falling to the floor as his sleepy limbs stretched out into the room.

Through the haze of the alcohol-infused sleep, he could hear the beeping of a coffee maker, the rattling of a cereal box, but still he kept his eyes closed. A headache was building behind his eyes, slowly but surely pulling him further and further away from the comfort of sleep. Eventually, the pounding was too much to ignore, and begrudgingly, he opened his eyes to the blurry pattern of his ceiling.

He stared for a few moments, recollecting the previous night’s events.

They had started at Bill’s, their usual haunt on a Saturday night. Celestino had left around 9:30, and that was when the real drinking started.

Emil had walked Sara home, or had it been the other way around?

JJ spent the most, for once, and after the fourth round of shots, Yuuri’s memory fails him.

He danced, a lot, maybe, and his drunken brain failed to tell him that he didn’t need any more to drink.

But who had he danced with?

The realisation hit him like a train, and he shot up, instantly regretting the pounding that ensued.

He had spent last night with Victor Nikiforov.

How had he known where to find him?

Yuuri snatched his glasses of the side table, almost knocking his phone to the floor as he did so. Shaking fingers scrolled through his messages, combing the names of his family and few friends, but Victor’s name did not appear. He opened Twitter, then Facebook, although he hardly used either of those apps. He tried to remember how he had ended up with Victor, how they had found each other, and how they would find each other again.

He almost gave up, before he remembered how the night had ended.

The little green phone reminded him that yes, Victor had given him his number before they had gone their separate ways.

His cheeks flushed a little at the memory of their final encounter, the kiss on the sidewalk that had happened as a result of the alcohol still surging through Yuuri’s veins, the final hurrah before the wicked hangover raging in his skull.

  1. Nikiforov. The numbers rolled on the screen, waiting for Yuuri to click through, to make the call.



He clicked it, turning on the speaker phone, and waiting through the silence before the ringing.

But the dial tone never came.

Instead, a long, head-splitting alarm burst from the handset, jolting Yuuri and causing the phone to fall to the sheets.

He ended the call, and counted the numbers, heart in his throat as he realised that the number was one too short.

Why hadn’t he let Victor type the number? And why did he  _ insist _ on shoving his glasses off his face whenever he was in an awkward situation?

He groaned and fell back into his pillows.

Now, he had no way of contacting Victor, and no way of finding him in the huge city that was growing by the day.

A knock at the door disrupted his thoughts.

“Yeah?” he called, throat cracking with dehydration.

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty,” Phichit’s sober sing-song voice called, kicking the door open to reveal his fully-dressed self bearing a tray of water, aspirin, coffee, and Pop Tarts.

“Ugh,” was the only sound Yuuri could respond with. Phichit just lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, presenting the tray to Yuuri, who took it into his lap while sitting back up against his headboard.

“You often ask why I don’t drink, and this is exactly why,” Phichit helped himself to one of the Pop Tarts as he spoke, tearing a corner off and chewing carefully while he waited for Yuuri to respond.

“Well, that’s, great, I hate you. You’re also underage. That might be a factor in your superior sobriety,” Yuuri muttered in response.

“You don’t. So, fun night?” Phichit turned to face Yuuri, legs crossed and listening intently. He loved hearing of Yuuri’s drunk adventures, even if he didn’t partake himself.

“I think so,” Yuuri’s eyes fell down, focussed on the swirl of the milk in his coffee.

“What happened?” Phichit leaned forward, and Yuuri sighed.

“I got Victor’s number,” Yuuri shrugged, colour flooding his cheeks again as he attempted to sip the coffee. Phichit choked on his mouthful.

“You  _ what?! _ Tell me everything.”

“I didn’t get it properly.”

“What do you mean, you didn’t get it properly?” Phichit’s voice was raised slightly in his excitement and it cut through Yuuri’s headache.

“I mean I missed a digit and I don’t know which one,” Yuuri said, shaking his head to counteract the vile burst of caffeine in his stomach. It didn’t work.

“Oh, Yuuri, why don’t you just get contacts?” Phichit fell back onto the mattress, pulling his phone awkwardly out of his pocket, and tapping a message to whoever was after him.

“You tell me,” he sighed, sitting back and abandoning his coffee cup on the tray. Phichit shook his head.

“There goes this century’s great love story.”

Yuuri kicked him.

But he couldn’t help the sinking feeling as he realised he had messed up what little chance he had with one of the most attractive men to take notice of him.

The airport hummed with throngs of people who were swimming in Victor’s line of vision. He watched as suitcases tattled behind men and women in smart, matching uniforms, a swarm of gorgeous stewards who, despite the late hour, looked impeccable. His eyes, naturally, honed in on the detail of their uniforms, the sharp cut of the collar that revealed a hint of red fabric, the red cufflinks that reflected the awful fluorescent light, the single red button that held the centre of their jackets together over a black waistcoat, the soft grey fabric that contrasted the jaunty red hats that were perched on the neat hair of the females, and the chiffon red cravats of the men. It was not the most attractive uniform he had seen on an airline, but he admired elements of it that were reminiscent of his early work. He made a mental note to offer his services to the airline, in the hopes that he could do the models that they called staff justice.

A yawn escaped his lips, and he turned back to his book despite the fact he couldn’t concentrate.

It had been three days since his night out with Yuuri, but he hadn’t heard back from the barber.

Had he come on too strong? Victor was constantly chastised by Yakov about his forwardness, the façade he painted for the media sometimes overriding his very real desire for natural human connections. It was easy to slip into the patterns that had built his career from the ground up, to throw himself into every interaction and hope the other person would be there to catch him, to keep up.

Suddenly, as if on cue, Chris stepped out of the crowd, sunglasses pulled over his face despite the darkness outside, pulling a pale blue suitcase behind him. He was dressed for the summer, with a pair of light denim cut offs and one of Victor’s signature white polos, but a loose scarf sat around his neck, and his rain coat was thrown dramatically over his shoulder. His face lit up when he saw his friend, and his almost-free hand pushed the sunglasses onto his head, clinging to his phone at the same time.

“Victor! I told you, you can see me tomorrow,” he laughed as he pulled his friend into a hug, his tired limbs grateful for the body that held them up.

“Come on, you can stay around mine tonight, I know it’s been a rough couple of weeks,” Victor’s arm remained around Chris’s waist, taking the case from him and leading his tired friend through the airport.

Together, they took a cab, which Victor paid for, and within half an hour they were in Victor’s warm apartment.

“I forgot how unforgiving New York summers are.  _ Merci _ ,” Chris leaned back into the cushions, unbuttoning his collar as he spoke, and accepting the glass of wine offered to him. In his lap, Makkachin had rested her warm head on her paws, and while Chris had missed the dog while he was away, he wished she would just lie next to him, because he could feel the sweat beading along his legs.

The wine was cool, and soothed his jet lag a little while he waited for Victor to join him on the couch. Victor looked at him, eyebrows raised, waiting for details of his trip. Chris sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Yes, the wedding was great, but I did not meet any gorgeous groomsmen, much to my disappointment. And I am still annoyed that my sister promised me a vacation despite the fact I have spent the past two weeks giving almost every single member of the wedding party a haircut,” Chris shook his head, while Victor laughed unsympathetically.

“I’m sorry, but you are asking for it, seeing as you spend all your time enforcing the idea that you  _ are  _ the best barber in New York City,” Victor sipped his wine, nudging Chris with his toe and laughing again when Makkachin grunted in response to the minor disturbance.

Chris glared, his hazel eyes dark. “Well,  _ second _ , now that  _ Yuuri _ has dyed your hair. What was it, Schwarzkopf?” He reached out and felt through the hair that fell across Victor’s face, which was nodding in response.

“Yeah, and look,” Victor held his phone’s light up to his face, “it’s  _ lilac! _ ”

Leaning forward, Chris smiled. “Only slightly, but that colour, it’s stunning. I am actually jealous, he did a really good job, and how old is he? 23?”

Victor nodded.

“Hm. Well, this  _ wonderful  _ barber of yours. Has he called yet?” Chris asked, causing Victor to splutter on his drink.

“Not yet,” he replied.

Another nod from Chris. “And, pray tell, how many messages have you sent him on Instagram?” He tilted his head, and Victor looked down, avoiding the knowing gaze that saw straight through him.

“Three,” he muttered into his wine, taking another large gulp. Chris laughed, before yawning into the back of his hand.

“And he hasn’t replied to them, either? Oh dear. This may be the first time the great Victor Nikiforov – dare I say it –  _ couldn’t _ seal the deal with his wit and charm?” Chris covered his mouth in mock shock, concealing another yawn.

“ _ J’ai une âme solitaire, _ ” Victor replied forlornly, leaning back and finishing his glass of wine.

“Not this again,” it was Chris’s turn to nudge Victor, and this time he woke Makkachin, who jumped off the couch in a huff.

“He’s gonna call,” Chris stretched up, standing as he spoke. Victor, too, stood up.

“Yeah,” Victor nodded, unconvinced. He finished his wine, and while he drank the still cool liquid down, Chris slipped into the kitchen to rescue the rest of the bottle.

“We drink to forget mean men, and non-existent ones too,” he declared, pouring out two more glasses. It was now 1am, but Victor loved the time he spent with his best friend.

“To the boys we love,” Victor declared, raising his glass. Chris clinked them together but rolled his eyes.

“And the ones we hate.”

Before he knew it, a week had passed, and it was Saturday night once again.

Victor was in his studio; he had spent the best part of the evening sketching out lazy, unusable designs in the dark.

The sky was painted pink, light blue ribbons holding what was left of the sunshine in the sky, desperately holding on to the sunset. Victor’s eyes dropped as he traced the lines of a plane, gliding slowly across the palette before him. He sighed again, leaning on his elbow and ignoring the clatter of his pencil as it fell to the floor, the lead snapping audibly.]

Why hadn’t he called?

After half an hour, and by the time darkness truly had settled in the studio, Victor gave up, stretching and walking around the window walls, closing the gaps he had thrown open hours earlier, clearing his desk of the useless papers and sketches, finding that the mannequins he had outlined all retained the same features as the barber who had been avoiding him all week.

Finally, he locked up, leaving the studio tidy and in the dark, and as he walked along the corridor, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

Curious, he slipped the device into his hands, and almost dropped his portfolio when he read the name that flashed across the screen.

**Yuuri Katsuki, Fitzgeralds:**

**_Victor, I am sorry I haven’t called._ **

**_Funny thing, I could barely see when I took your number, and I missed a digit._ **

**_And I forgot that we can DM on Instagram, (thank my roommate for this message)_ **

**_Anyway, are you free tonight, or tomorrow? If you do want to see me, we can go for dinner?_ **

Victor smiled, halfway through a reply, when another message popped up for him.

**_Unless you don’t want to._ **

He laughed at the empty elevator, head swimming as his shaking fingers tapped out a response.

Yuuri’s chin was nestled in his hands, watching his phone anxiously for a response he was worried would never come.

After spending the entire week moping, and trying his best to remember how Victor had known where to find him on Saturday, Yuuri had given up hope that he would ever see Victor again.

He didn’t have his number, and he had no other way of contacting him. Yuuri used Twitter, briefly, but Victor’s account was inactive, the last Tweet being sent three months before.

While he and Phichit worked their way through a pizza, Phichit’s phone pinged with another notification. Yuuri glanced at the screen to check the time, and dropped the slice in his hand. The cheese burned his fingers, as his other hand immediately grabbed to catch the food. He yelped, sucking the sore skin, before snatching up his own phone.

“What-?”

“I DM’d him on  _ Insta! _ ” Yuuri’s heart was pounding as he pulled up his chat with Victor, cringing at the awful, typo-filled message.

Three more messages popped up, short, simple, but obvious in their intention.

**V.N.:**

**_Hey Yuuri, how are you? Xxx_ **

**_Hi, hope your hangover wasn’t too painful, lol xx_ **

**_Yuuri, don’t forget, you have my number if you ever want to talk x_ **

“Whoa,” Phichit breathed, taking a bite as he read over Yuuri’s shoulder.

“Whoa,” Yuuri repeated. “What do I say to that? It’s been a week, I should just give up, he probably hates me after I ghosted him.”

“Here,” Phichit snatched the phone, skilled fingers tapping out a message and hitting send before Yuuri could check it over. Thankfully, it was pretty tame, but Yuuri could feel his cheeks burning.

“I’m already eating,” Yuuri protested, causing Phichit to slap the slice from his hand, again burning his fingers on the cheese.

“Now we wait,” Yuuri sighed, watching the phone.

Within seconds, although they passed like hours, the screen lit up.

**V. N.:**

**_Meet you on the corner, near the street light. I can’t wait to see you! Xxx_ **

Yuuri exhaled, an action that woke the butterflies fluttering against his stomach.

Maybe it hadn’t been such a stupid idea after all.


End file.
